l'amour de ma vie
by garyprestons
Summary: In 1x02, Miranda and Gary agreed to be one another's safety wife and husband if they weren't married by 55. Spoiler: They don't have to wait.


Paris is everything that Miranda expected, and more. She's been in desperate need of some sort of change of pace, so when Gary suggests they sneak off for a weekend, she instantly agrees. Sometimes she's still in shock that she and Gary can sneak off anywhere — they've been dating for five months, three days, and eighteen hours. (She's decided that the first time they kissed is when they officially got together.) And it's been absolutely marvellous. They're still the very best of friends, only now with the added perks of snogging, sex, and no more unresolved sexual tension. It's like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, and everything is working in her favour for once.

It's their last day in Paris, and they've been spending it going all over the city. She's got her trusty guidebook in one hand and Gary's hand in the other, and one of their destinations for the day is a café that apparently has the best pastries. (One of the best parts about Paris—_the food_.)

But strangely, on more than one occasion today, she's accidentally left him behind. The first time it happens, she doesn't realize she's been walking so fast even with her nose in her guidebook, and when she turns around, he's down the street. _Tying his shoe_. Which she doesn't think odd at the time, but after it happens three more times, she's starting to get irritated. She's wearing sensible shoes, at least.

She goes back to get him, grips his hand a bit more tightly, not wanting to lose him again in the crowd. After she spots the café they stop in for lunch and tea, of course, and while she's flipping through her guidebook to find something else exciting to see, she overhears him order a few more of the chocolate croissants to go, and she blushes. He's always known her better than anyone else, after all, and now that they're together he's always finding some way to surprise her or make her smile. Which doesn't take much; she's already got everything she's ever wanted.

"I know it's a bit touristy, but how about the Eiffel Tower?" he suggests when he sits back down at the little table and carefully tucks away the fancy little box of pastries. Better that it goes in his pack than hers, or she'll eat all of them before they make it out the door.

"I've got a better idea! Let's walk to the Trocadéro," she suggests excitedly. "Tilly says it's the most 'romanticful'" — shudder at using any amount of Tinspiration — "place to visit. We're in Paris, right?" And yes, her attempts at a French accent are horrible (her fake French is better, thank you), and Gary is laughing with her, but he clasps her hand in his and wordlessly agrees, and they head out into the late afternoon sun once more.

The pictures on the glossy paper in her guidebook don't do it justice. She's absolutely gobsmacked when they arrive. The Eiffel Tower is right there, the Seine flows gracefully, everything is lush and green and lovely, and she's so glad she gets to see this at least once in her life.

"I'm sorry, I think I'm having a moment with a piece of architecture," she jokes, still gripping his hand tightly. "Be with you in a second…" She takes it all in, snaps a few pictures with her phone, tries to memorize absolutely everything that she can see, can hear, can smell, can feel. And when she finally feels like she's absorbed even the tiniest fraction of the emotions coursing through her, she turns to Gary, who is looking at her rather than at the view.

"Right, sorry. Just a bit exhilarating, isn't it?" she asks him with a laugh, and oh my, take the picturesque scene and put Gary in front of it, and it's like a romantic movie.

Of course, he chooses that exact moment to drop down to one knee to sort out his shoelaces again, and she throws her hands up in frustration.

"Really, Gary? It's called a double knot!" she sighs, and is about to step away to take some more pictures when she realizes he's not reaching for his shoe but for the pocket of his trousers, and she freezes, confused and a tiny part of her beginning to slowly panic because he's looking up at her and there's a little black velvet box in his hand and inside the box there's a ring and on the ring is a diamond and…

"You're… proposing." She can barely hear her own voice through the sound of her heart hammering in her chest, and yes she absolutely can hear it. Or maybe it's the blood pounding in her ears. But it doesn't matter, because she can hear him just fine.

"I've been trying to all day," he says sheepishly, still holding the box open.

"And here I thought you just needed better trainers," she manages to reply, and he reaches for her hand. She's not used to looking down at him; he's got a few inches on her which for some reason makes her feel positively dainty when she's in his arms.

"Shall I continue?" he asks, interrupting her daydream, and she swallows the lump in her throat and nods. "Miranda, I love you. I love everything about you. But most of all, I love that you're still you. You're still the funny, brilliant, warm, slightly mad girl I met that day at university." His hand squeezes hers slightly, and she can feel it shaking. Or maybe it's her hand. She's pretty sure they're both barely holding it together at this point. She squeezes back, because she's not going to interrupt. All she can do is watch in awe as he pours his heart out to her.

"Every day I've spent with you, whether we were just friends or more than that, has been an adventure. I never know what you're going to do or say but I know it'll be something exciting. And… and I want to feel that every day. Forever. So," he continues, clearing his throat slightly before grinning nervously, and she already knows she's going to say yes and patience has never been one of her strong points, but she wants to hear him ask, wants to hear what those words sound like coming from him in his voice, so she can replay this moment in her head over and over every time she tells the story about how Gary Preston proposed to her in Paris in front of the Eiffel Tower.

"Miranda, will you marry me?"

"Yes!"

Their voices overlap and in the next moment he's back on his feet and pulling her to him for the most passionate, dizzying, wonderful kiss she's ever had. She holds him tightly, feeling the tears burning at the corners of her eyes and it's too much to take in all at once but she'd never have it any other way. She feels like she's about to burst with emotion, and her fingers curl into his shoulders to hold herself steady.

Once she's left properly breathless from the kiss, he carefully slides the ring onto her finger; it fits perfect, it looks even more perfect. She only has a moment to admire it on her left hand before they're kissing again, both so giggly and giddy that it feels surreal. But she can feel the gold of the ring against her fingers, and Gary's hand wrapped around all of them, and this is real.

When they finally pull apart slightly, grinning at one another, a movement to their left gets her attention. Someone's snapping a photo of the view, and they're right in the middle of it. For a moment both she and Gary look embarrassed, and then Miranda's grin widens.

"Picturesque enough for you, then?" she calls to the photographer, and Gary's laughter is in her ear and she hugs him a little bit closer, her heart racing and her mind already filling with possibilities for their future. And just as quickly as they appear, she pushes them aside. For now, this is all that matters.

And as she leans in to kiss her boyfriend — ooo, fiancé now, isn't it? — in front of the Eiffel Tower in what is probably the most perfect moment of her life, she can't help but realize that they didn't have to wait until 55 after all.


End file.
